


The Finest Flower

by mbaline



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Flora & Fauna, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, Plants, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:17:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8413474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbaline/pseuds/mbaline
Summary: After a bad crash leaves his Lion badly damaged and his supplies depleted, Shiro is forced to venture out into the thick jungle of this dark, quiet world in search of water.  He soon discovers that looks can be deceiving: this alien planet isn't quite as uninhabited as he first thought.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags.

It’s been four days since the crash.

The malfunctioning wormhole had spat Shiro and his Lion out somewhere in the upper atmosphere of this vast green planet, the momentum sending them down into an uncontrollable spin. Black hadn’t responded to any of Shiro’s frantic pleas for her to break them out of their nosedive; whatever Zarkon had done to her clearly hadn’t worn off.

Shiro doesn’t remember the moment of impact or the crash down into dense jungle that had left his Lion battered and broken and himself aching and bruised. When he’d finally managed to get Black powered up again, the list of her systems damaged by the crash was distressingly long, but after a few tense moments she’d finally responded to Shiro’s tentative touch, confirming that, given enough time, her systems could be repaired enough to get them out of here. 

Initial scans show the planet to be uninhabited by advanced life forms, but Shiro is hesitant to venture out into the dense jungle Black is buried in; comms haven’t come back online yet, which means that there’s no knowing whether the first ship that appears in the sky is going to be the Castle or a Galra destroyer, and if it’s the latter he’s going to need to get out of here quickly once Black is flight-ready. Until then, Shiro’s still wary of leaving Black unattended before she’s repaired herself enough to activate her cloaking ability in his absence. 

There’s only one problem.

It’s been four days since the crash. Shiro hasn’t had water in six. 

When he’d finally regained consciousness after the crash and realised the full extent of the situation--Black too damaged to fly, communications offline, stranded alone on an alien planet--he’d outlined a plan of action: wait for Black to repair herself or for the others to find him; whichever came first. In the meantime he’d needed to patch himself up, the wound that Haggar inflicted made worse by the way he’d been flung around the cockpit during the fall from the upper atmosphere, in addition to what felt like fractured if not broken ribs. The Altean medkit he’d found had been cracked open in the crash, its contents spilling out across the cockpit: gauze, small cube-shaped packages, and dozens of liquid-filled vials. 

According to Black, the contents of the cube-shaped packages were edible, each enough to sustain him for days at a time, while the three vials that were still intact contained both a numbing agent to dull the pain of Shiro’s injuries and a stimulant to keep his energy levels up. 

The other set of vials, the ones containing hydration fluid intended to stave off dehydration, had all been shattered during the crash. 

Black had offered a solution: she could synthesize a water supply using the outside elements, but doing so would require diverting energy away from her self-repair network, slowing down the process significantly. For Shiro, that’s not an option: they’re too vulnerable like this; he’ll have to find another way. The edible tablets are a temporary solution; there’s enough moisture in them to keep the dehydration mostly at bay, but by the fifth day he’s beginning to feel light-headed, his mouth dry and parched. By the sixth, he’s so dizzy he can barely walk at all. 

If he doesn’t get water soon, he’s not going to survive long enough for the others to find him. 

Black’s scans indicate that the chemical composition of this planet’s air is within the human range of survivability. And if Black’s subsequent sweeping scan of the surrounding area is anything to go by, the same might also be true of the small pools of liquid that her scanners are picking up not too far from here. It seems miraculous, impossible, but Shiro’s knows by now that the universe works in strange and unexplainable ways, has learned from experience that the best way to face it is try to roll with the punches when they happen and to embrace the good things when they come.

And this--the possibility of this alien planet actually having drinkable liquid--is, undoubtedly, a good thing; an opportunity that Shiro can’t let pass. If he’s going to have a chance of surviving long enough for the others to reach him, he’s going to need to venture out of his Lion and into the dense, dark jungle outside.

A few drops from the vial over his tongue, numbing the aches and pains of his injured body, and he’s ready to go: fully armoured, his gun at his side, the glow of his suit lighting the way. 

Shiro steps out of the Lion and onto the surface of an alien planet. 

From down here on the ground the view is incredible, indescribable; Shiro feels the same awed thrill as he’d felt back on Kerberos, when they’d stepped down onto the planet’s surface for the first time. The jungle is thick, the air murky with floating spores and what looks to be, on closer inspection, tiny airborne flowers. A dozen feet above the huge tangles of roots that Shiro is navigating through are the trees--if they even _are_ trees. Whatever they are, they’re breathtakingly wide, at least thirty foot across at the base, and they’re dizzyingly tall, so tall that they fade into the gloom before Shiro can even see how high they reach. Their upper branches must be densely packed, considering the complete lack of sunlight shining through; it would be pitch black down here if not for the faint glow emitted by the various bioluminescent plants and flowers that Shiro passes. Pidge would have a field day seeing all of this, Shiro thinks to himself as he limps further into the forest, trying to push down the sudden ache of missing his team. 

He distracts himself by looking at his wrist scanner. There’s still no life-signs beyond the plants that have already been detected. Shiro can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad sign; intelligent life-forms could mean finding assistance, finding help, and the lack of them--or any creatures at all--could mean that there’s something about this forest that keeps them away. The alternative could also be true: Black hadn’t picked up any signals that indicated that there was any form of civilisation nearby. Maybe this planet is uninhabited by anything more than plant life. Maybe Shiro is the first non-plant being to set foot here since the planet first formed. The thought makes him feel even more unsteady than he already does. 

Luckily he quickly has a reason not to think about it anymore: behind the next tangle of roots is the pool that Black had detected - the liquid looks slightly honey-coloured, illuminated by small furls of glowing pink buds beneath the surface. Shiro stumbles towards it, kneeling at the pool’s edge. Carefully, he trails one fingertip over the surface, sending the liquid rippling, the glowing buds swaying faintly at the disturbance. The fluid has the consistency of water, and according to Black’s scan it should be drinkable. 

Shiro peels off his right glove first, dipping in one cool fingertip. When it hasn’t started melting--or reacting in any way--after a few moments, he removes the other glove and slowly, slowly, touches the edge of his pinky finger to the liquid. It feels faintly warm on his skin, but beyond that, there’s nothing to differentiate it from how it would feel to dip his hand in water; there’s no tingling that could signal a negative reaction, not even when he slides his whole hand in up to the knuckles. 

Black said it was drinkable, and his body is telling him that it probably won’t react negatively to his system. He doesn’t have a whole lot of other options: he’s too weak, too injured to make a longer journey to the other pools Black had detected a few miles away. If he doesn’t rehydrate soon, he might not survive long enough for the others to find him. 

Shiro breathes in deeply, and removes his helmet. 

The first thing that registers is the heat. He can feel his face begin to bead with sweat in mere moments. His suit had shielded him from the stifling warmth and humidity, like that of a sauna, but Black was right: he can breathe. The second thing that registers is the quiet: apart from the faint rustle of his armour against the moss-covered ground, it’s completely silent; there’s no sound to suggest the presence of insects or birds or any non-plant being at all. It’s a little unsettling. Shiro inhales a calming breath once, twice, drinking in the air of this strange alien planet. A heavy, thick scent dominates the air, almost overpoweringly sweetness infused with a faint edge of decay. The liquid, when Shiro cups a handful and raises it to his face, smells rich and syrupy. Already he can feel his mouth begin to water; he’s been trying to keep his pangs of thirst at bay, but now it’s impossible to focus on anything else besides the feel of liquid in his hands and how desperately the urge is to slake his thirst in rapid gulps. 

Shiro forces his shaking hands to steady. Carefully, he ducks his head down and sips a small mouthful from his hands, shivering as flavour bursts over his tongue: bitter and sharp and cloyingly sweet all at once. 

He swallows it down, lets the liquid spill from between his fingers, and waits.

He counts to sixty seconds, then another minute, then a third. By the fifth, there’s still no reaction, nothing to signal that the liquid is doing anything more than satisfying his aching thirst. By the tenth, certainty washes over him: everything so far has indicated that it’s safe to drink. The realisation is like a dam breaking, his thirst intensifying with a vengeance. 

Shiro crouches down and gulps down several small handfuls in quick succession, relief flooding his veins as the thirst begins to ease; already he can feel the dehydrated lethargy of before evolving into a warm buzz of energy resurging through his system. He allows himself five handfuls before he forces himself to slow down and sit back, licking drops of sweet liquid fluid from his lips and wiping at his mouth. 

Something shifts in the undergrowth. 

Shiro stills, glancing down at the scanner on his wrist. It displays no lifesigns beyond the densely packed trees and plants around him. He forces himself not to react at the feel of something brushing against his ankle and up over his knee in a slow sinuous movement, like that of a snake. It doesn’t _look_ like any snake that Shiro’s seen before; another glance down reveals something thin and dark purple sliding up over his thigh, the tip of it narrowed to a point and seemingly eyeless. The next moment it’s joined by another, and then three more of varying sizes, curling over his covered feet and legs and chest. 

There doesn’t seem to be anything clearly malicious about the vines--if there’s no other lifesigns then Shiro deduces that these must be some form of plant--sliding over him; in fact, their touches seem almost curious, exploratory. That doesn’t mean that he should let his guard down entirely. His lasergun is strapped to his belt and, if he needs to, the arm is an effective close-range weapon, but both of those options are a last resort. Shiro doesn’t want his first encounter with a new alien life form to end in violence. 

His main concern is what might happen if the vines touch his bare skin; there’s no knowing if they might be harmful to him whether they intend to be or not. There’s at least a dozen tendrils covering his chest and thighs now, and it’s only a matter of time before they slide up to his uncovered neck and hand; he needs to get his helmet and glove back on. 

As if he’d spoken the thought aloud, the next moment a thick vine curls around his discarded helmet and tugs at it, pulling it out of reach. 

“Hey,” Shiro admonishes, as if there’s even a possibility that the vines can understand him. “Stop that.” 

The vines on him stop moving at the same moment the one holding his helmet recoils, relinquishing its tight hold and drooping down to lie prone on the floor, almost like it’s trying to apologise. 

_Okay,_ Shiro thinks to himself. _Maybe it can understand me. That could be useful._

“Can I have that back, please?” Shiro slowly reaches his right arm out, gesturing. 

For a moment, he almost thinks it’s going to work. 

In the blink of an eye the vine whips into action, curling around the lip of the helmet and dragging it backwards, disappearing into the thick undergrowth. Shiro curses, snatching up his glove from the ground before another tendril can steal it. He shrugs off the vines on him as carefully and quickly as he can before getting to his feet and taking chase after his stolen helmet, staving off Black’s hum of concern with a quick _Don’t worry, it’s nothing; I’m fine_. And then, because he doesn’t want this to end in Black coming for him in a whirl of fire and destruction, _Don’t come for me unless I call for you._

It’s slow going making his way into the jungle’s depths; here the roots are more densely packed and harder to navigate around, and worse, his progress is being impeded by a growing number of vines tangling themselves around his ankles and legs as he travels deeper into a thick cluster of roots, chasing after brief glimpses of his helmet. 

Within minutes he’s out of breath and exhausted from fighting off the vines, pain rippling through the wound on his side, reopened by his efforts. Down here in the roots it’s oppressively dark and even more humid, the sweet smell of before almost sickeningly intense, and he can’t see his helmet anywhere, the small lights on his suit providing the only illumination until Shiro gives in and lights up his right hand. The soft mulch beneath his feet has changed into something softer, almost springy, but before Shiro gets the chance to take a closer look, a thick vine closes around his ankle and yanks. 

His foot goes out from under him and he falls, hard, his unprotected head cracking painfully on the solid edge of a root. Shiro struggles, blinking blood out of his eyes as the vine is joined by more; they’re dragging him, pulling him down deeper into the tangle of roots that are packed too densely for him to grab his gun or to sit up enough to slash at the tendrils with his hand. 

The vines give another powerful yank, pulling him through a small gap in the roots, and the next thing he knows, Shiro is falling. 

He hits the ground with a splash, choking on a hoarse yell as his leg snaps, bone breaking at the hard impact. The vines don’t stop pulling at him, the pain of his broken leg being jostled so intense that he almost blacks out before dragging himself back to consciousness by sheer force of will; he can’t afford to pass out now. He’s being dragged through shallow liquid--the same kind as the pool up on the surface--and the glow of his arm reveals that he’s in some kind of cavern, the walls covered in what must be thousands of vines. His destination lies before him: a huge writhing mass of glistening red vines concentrated in the centre of the cavern, seemingly all of them slowly snaking towards him to join the dozens already covering him. 

Shiro thrashes, using the open space to hack and slash at as many of the vines around him as he can reach, but it’s no use. There’s too many. For every ten that he shreds to pieces, another hundred takes their place, slowly and inexorably pulling him towards the thick swarm of vines in the centre. The broadest vine on his left wrist jerks upwards suddenly, dragging him upright, the ones on his chest and waist and legs working in tandem until he’s suspended in mid-air, ensnarled immobile in a giant web of vines. A vine curled over the bicep of his right arm pins it to his side before squeezing so tightly he groans, the part of his arm that can still feel pain awash with agony; they’re going to crush it. They’re going to rip it off entirely. 

“Stop, stop,” he pleads, powering the arm down in surrender. “Please don’t---” 

The vine relents. That’s all the confirmation Shiro needs: whatever this thing is, it can understand him.

He swallows, trying to steady his racing heartbeat. “What do you want from me?” 

A thin vine curls around his throat, tracing the rapid flutter of his pulse before snaking up over his jaw, brushing over his parted lips. Shiro jerks, trying to pull away, flinching as the tendril uses the opportunity to slide into his mouth and over his tongue, hot and slick and relentless, pushing down past his spasming throat to press deeper into his body. 

_Stop stop stop_ he tries to communicate through the blur of panic, instead stopping short at the alien sensation that washes over him: the slow, deep calm of something ancient, something immeasurably old brushing up against the part of Shiro’s mind reserved for his bond with his Lion and intertwining his consciousness with its own. His pulse slows, the pains of his body easing; he has no body, he is the forest and the forest is him, he’s a seed carried across the galaxies, floating in the winds of space to fall on this cold, dead planet, sprouting down in the darkness, unfurling, taking root deep within the earth and beginning to spread, bringing life to the emptiness, and the hunger grows and grows and grows----

Shiro pulls himself free of the tide of sensation, dragging himself back into his body and pulling the other consciousness with him, letting it in, letting it drink in the unfamiliar sensations of this strange alien body and all its curiosities and its wants and its thirsts. Shiro feels it flicker with confusion as it uncovers that last part. 

_Yes,_ he tells it. _I know your hunger; I have my own._

A faint flicker of understanding whispers through the threads connecting them; the forest knows hunger. The forest has lived with its hunger for a long time; eons have passed since its last feed. 

Now comes the more important part. _Are you going to kill me?_

First comes confusion--the forest does not know “kill”, the forest is eternal, endless--and then a shiver of alarm when Shiro tries to communicate it in a way it can understand: no more forest; no more _me._ The answer to his question comes slowly, but certainly: the hunger is deep, but the forest does not know greed. It only takes what it needs to sustain itself. 

_Take it, then_ , Shiro tells. _Take what you need and let me go._

The lone vine uncoils from somewhere deep inside him, drawing back and slithering free of his mouth. Shiro keeps himself still as it moves to the neck of his suit, narrowing itself until it’s small enough to slip down inside it. A few seconds later, and the top half of his paladin armour clicks open, falling from his body piece by piece. The rest of his armour follows suit not long after, and now Shiro’s down to his thin black undergear, his last layer of defense in a fight that he’s already surrendered to. He tries to ease his trepidation at what’s coming with the knowledge that whatever happens, the creature isn’t going to kill him. He’ll survive this. There’s no point in fighting it. 

He tenses at the feeling of two slick vines easing up the hem of his shirt, inch by slow inch. Together they push it up until it’s bunched up just below his neck, his chest bare and uncovered. His nipples begin to harden at the wash of cooler air over his exposed skin, tightening into flushed points when more vines begin to close over the pale skin of his chest; the feeling of their smooth tendrils brushing over his nipples makes his breath hitch at the unexpected burst of pleasure. The feeling intensifies as the vines grow bolder, curling around the sensitive flesh and squeezing lightly. Shiro gasps; he didn’t----he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t _known,_ and he should tell it to stop, should rescind his offer; but it feels so good. 

Another set of tendrils worries at the hem of his pants, and Shiro remains unresisting as the vines slowly peel them down his thighs until his cock is exposed; instead his only movement beyond is a fully-body shiver, his face heating with trepidation and embarrassment and, to his surprise, _arousal._ Already, his cock is flushed and well on its way to being hard from the touches to his nipples alone, and even as part of him wonders what it would feel like to be touched down there a single tendril curls around the base of his cock before winding down its length as it thickens at the stimulation. The next moment the tendril is nudging at his foreskin, teasing it back to lick wetly at the exposed head, smearing the pearl of precome that beads there. A sharp, ragged noise escapes from Shiro’s lips, his hips jerking in response, seeking more, and the vines answer him. 

A group of tendrils curl under his balls, cradling them gently as another thick vine slides beneath them, rubbing its slick tip at the sensitive skin behind them. Together the vines all work as one, their motions slow and tentative, as if careful not to push too far too quickly, drinking in the reactions of Shiro’s body and responding in kind. His cock is fully hard, now, and beginning to twitch in response to the steady, light touches of the vines teasing over his nipples and chest and between his legs, so soft and gentle it doesn’t take long for it becomes almost unbearable. Soon he’s slick with sweat, panting with the effort of keeping himself still. 

On the next slow drag of another vine over the sensitive skin behind his balls, Shiro can’t hold back the quiet groan from escaping between his clenched teeth. Within the vines’ light clasp he can feel his cock beginning to drool a steady stream of wet, his balls heavy between his legs; it’s so, so _much_ , like he’s being touched everywhere at once, and vines are curling around his cock and beginning to stroke it in time with the pinches and tugs on his nipples and fuck, he’s close, so close already, and on the next aching press of the thick vine to his perineum, his orgasm hits. 

Shiro sobs. 

His cock jerks and spills, painting his own chest and the vines covering him in stripes of come. The vines writhe in response, licking it up with their tips and carrying it to the ground; within seconds the fertile earth sprouts forth more vines, growing faster than any Earth plant ever would. The vines on his cock speed up their pace, milking the last few spurts of come out of him in firm pulls. By the time he’s finished shuddering through it more vines are sliding over his skin, trailing up between his shaking thighs to brush over the tight furl of his hole, the motion of the rest of them on his skin gentling enough to let him take in a few uneven gasps, feeling the last few sparks of pleasure flaring brighter at the light touch between his legs. 

Shiro trembles, unsure of whether he wants to lean away or press into it, his eyes fluttering shut as the vines trace smooth circles around the sensitive skin. His muscles have already been loosened by orgasm; it doesn’t take long for the vines to coax him open enough for one thin tendril to slip inside. The vine twitches, and a pulse of warm liquid floods his insides, the glide of the vine growing smoother and wetter as it pumps in and out, working him open a little at a time. 

The touches to his nipples intensify, plucking lightly at first the left and then the right, dragging his attention away from the alien sensation of the vine twisting further up into him. Within minutes it’s joined by another, and then a third, the three of them plaiting together to form a single thick vine that’s just rough enough to make his legs tremble as it brushes up the inside of his thigh. It sinks into him in one smooth slide, stretching him open as it moves deeper and deeper, until it brushes against that aching spot inside, his whole body tensing at the overwhelming sensation. 

Already his limp cock is beginning to fill with blood once more, coaxed back into hardness by the slow, steady pulls of the vines on his cock, the gentle flickers of the tendrils working the tight points of his nipples. A thin vine slithers over the slick tip of his cock, teasing at the slit, a second thicker vine curling loosely around his balls and rubbing gently over the sensitive surface of them, rolling and squeezing at them as if in the palm of a hand. 

It doesn’t take long for them to swell under the stimulation, almost unbearable in its intensity; the vines inside him are beginning to stroke over his prostate in steady, deliberate motions, driving him closer and closer to the edge and it’s too soon; it’s impossible that he’s this close already, but the vines are licking him and stroking him and fucking him and Shiro lies still and lets them do it, lets them satisfy their hunger. His toes curl as they force another orgasm out of him, hips twitching helplessly into the tight thrust of the vines on his cock as his balls draw up tight and he comes with a long, drawn-out wail. 

It’s so good, it’s so, so good, and the vines aren’t stopping, aren’t slowing their frenzied pace, rubbing fiercely over his prostate now, forcing the come out of him again and again until the pleasure transforms into one long continuous sensation, overwhelming in its enormity. Distantly he registers that the thin sounds he can hear are his own ragged moans as he writhes in the vines’ clutch, practically whining at the overstimulation as the vines work his limp cock into hardness again and again, pulling his legs wider and easing more vines into the loosened clutch of his hole, his body accepting it, unresisting. His vision whites out again as another gut-wrenching orgasm is dragged out of him. 

He can’t have much more to give; there’s only so much his injured, exhausted body can bear. When a thin vine brushes over his lips Shiro opens his mouth and lets it in--no use fighting it--his eyes widening in surprise when warm, sweet liquid trickles over his tongue, the same as the liquid he’d drank from the pool. It’s an instinctive reaction, the way he closes his mouth around it, sucking on the tip of the vine and drawing the fluid out one delicious mouthful at a time, feeling his own thirst be satisfied. More of it spills down his throat in steady, rhythmic pulses in counterpoint to the tireless motions of the vines on his skin; Shiro swallows it all down, feeling it nourish and reinvigorate his aching body, filling him up even as the other vines do the same down between his legs, and this is good, this is right, giving his body to the forest and receiving the forest’s gift in return. 

Time blurs. 

Somewhere between the sixth and seventh orgasm he starts coming dry, his cock twitching and jerking uselessly, producing a small, weak blurt of come and then nothing at all. It hurts, it _hurts,_ the pleasure tipping over into bright, stunning pain and a vine trails softly over his cheek, brushing away the involuntary tears spilling from his eyes. Beneath the ache of his body and the dull pain of his broken leg Shiro feels a deep, unfathomable contentment resonate through him, through whatever tenuous bond he has formed with this creature; he's served his purpose well. A vine strokes over his belly, over the swollen curve of it where he’s been filled with the vines’ fluid; the sensation is oddly soothing amidst the last few sparks of pleasure as the rest of the vines finally recede, gently lowering him down to the ground, careful not to jostle his leg.

It’s over. He did it. He survived. 

Beneath the overwhelming relief he’s dimly aware of sensation beginning to trickle back in through the haze: he’s exhausted, aching, in pain. He needs to get out of here, to get back to his Lion, but already unconscious is beginning to overtake him, coaxing him down into darkness. Shiro doesn’t fight it. He made it through today, through the impossible; tomorrow can wait. 

Shiro closes his eyes, relaxing into the soft warmth of the vines cradling him in their embrace, and sinks down into deep, blissful sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> Does Shiro make it back to his Lion and manage to leave the planet quickly? Does his broken leg mean that he has to wait until it heals enough for him to climb back to the surface? Does he spend the next six weeks being gently but relentlessly worked over by vines until he's used to it? When he finally makes it off the planet and back to the others, does some small part of him miss it?
> 
> You decide :^)
> 
>  
> 
> So. Uh. Tentacle fic. I guess that happened? I don't even know what it is about Shiro that makes it so fun to write him like this; once again: sorry Shiro. As usual, comments and feedback is super appreciated; let me know what you thought! <3 
> 
>  
> 
> (And for those waiting on the next chapter of the Shendak fic: sorry for the delay, I'm hoping to post it in the next few weeks - hopefully the fact that it's going to be over 10k should make up for how long it's taking to get it done.)
> 
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/mbaline_trash)


End file.
